Stammering Silence
by Dr. Fandom
Summary: Sherlock is stumped on a case, and that doesn't usually happen. He's been on edge lately, and it's been noticeable, especially to his best friend: John Watson. John tries his best to help Sherlock, but his stubbornness is beginning to dent their friendship. When John finally explains what's on his own mind, everything goes on hold as the two are left to their thoughts.
1. Chapter 1 of 5

The sound of his violin echoed through the room. He claimed the peaceful tune of this melodic, delicate instrument helped him think, but really, I feel as if he simply enjoys playing it. I closed my eyes and sipped my herbal tea. It was a soft night, the moon shining through the window, the night sky clear of any intrusions. The sweater that Mrs. Hudson has knit for me this Christmas Eve was so warm... and the chair, more comfortable than your usual luxury recliner. Sleep was inevitable, as this was the most soothed I have felt in quite some time. Lately I've been physically and mentally exhausted, case after case with Sherlock, and all the running we've been through. Maybe if I just dozed off he wouldn't notice...

"Watson!" Sherlock snapped. I quickly arose in fright.

"Sherlock, what?!" I spat back, now out of my trance. He had stopped playing and was staring right at me, eyes fixed on mine. This glare was intimidating to most, but at this point I was used to it, so I simply stared back. God, how are his eyes so blue? They're like icicles...

"Any thoughts? I've been playing for an hour straight and nothing has seemed to cross my mind... It's so frustrating. We have the puzzle, but we have to piece it together. He's a teller, a husband, has three kids and two Shih-Tzu... There was no dog hair at the scene, but he's always covered in it. There were no fingerprints, no dragging, no blood, no crash, no sign of struggle. How did he get that body in the car?!" Sherlock was obviously getting frustrated at this point. He picked up his violin and quickly played a ferocious tune that nearly made my ears bleed.

"Sherlock, Sherlock stop!" I screamed as he slowed to a more gentle tune. "Thank you... Anyway, I'm not sure." The tall man stopped completely and set down his instrument on his plush chair before he turned to the window and sighed.

"Do you know what it's like? Not knowing something?" he questioned, abruptly.

"Well... Of course I do, everybody does at-"

"WELL NOT ME!" he cut me off, yelling. I noticed he had turned and was infuriated.

"Are you alright? Have I frustrated you?" I quickly inquired, hoping that I haven't. His eyes softened, and he muttered an apology. He looked down to the ground in something like shame before he looked back out the window again.

A few minutes passed before I stood and said, "I'll be going to bed."

"Alright. I'll text you in the mourning."

I swiftly walked to the doorframe of my bedroom before I hesitated and turned back. Sherlock was standing tall, hands clasped behind his back. The moonlight reflected off of his deep brown locks of hair, how curly they are...

"Weren't you going to bed?" he startled me by asking, unmoving.

"Y-yes," I stammered a weak reply before I went into my room, closing the door behind me.

I undressed, not tired enough to simply sleep in my casual clothes. Striding over to my bed I found my nighttime trousers and slipped them on. Basic black, nothing too fancy. After I had finished, the bed absorbed me. Without any blankets or sheets, my eyes closed and I was nearly asleep.

The door cracked open a tad, and a stream of light poured into the Eastern side of the room. Sherlock squirmed through, trying not to awaken me with sound or light. Being half-conscious, I knew he was there anyway. He tip-toed over to me and sat on the chair next to the nightstand for a few moments. I could feel his eyes on me, and it would have been awkward if sleep hadn't nearly consumed me at this point. I felt him arise, and he placed a hand on my shoulder before heading to the door.

"I know you're awake, John," he chuckled. "Good night."

I smiled to myself. Of course he knew, my breathing must have changed, or my facial expression. Note to self: work on fooling Sherlock. A small laugh escaped my throat at the note, knowing it'll never happen. My mind suddenly went blank, as sleep had finally arrived.


	2. Chapter 2 of 5

I awoke the next mourning to the familiar smell of French roasted coffee. A loud, exhausting yawn escaped as I slowly kicked the blankets off. Groggy as all hell, I shoved my feet into the soft, green slippers that awaited, shuffled over to my dresser, put on a simple white shirt, and opened the door.

The smell was now even stronger, and my spirits were lifted. A nice cup of coffee to start yet another busy day with Sherlock.

"You're welcome," a voice from behind me said. I turned to see Sherlock standing there with a... What was that? The slightest hint of a smirk? Why that-

"Sorry to interrupt your thoughts, John, but you really should hurry. I'm going to be heading out, and I'll be trusting that you'll be waiting for a text should I need you."

"Sure thing, Sherlock. Just give me about an hour."

"You have ten minutes," he replied, embraced by his long navy blue coat. Tossing his infamous scarf around his neck, he added, "Make that five if I'm right, which I usually am."

Before I could reply he was quickly closing the door behind him. Carefully and quietly, I set my head against the door to listen for footsteps. After a moment, I slowly arose before the chunk of wood was thrown open, slamming me in the face. Hard.

"Oh! John!" Sherlock yelled. I groaned in pain as I looked at him.

"What?!"

"Oh, my bad." Holmes said with a touch of sympathy before he clasped my hand. We both made eye contact and hesitated a moment before he pulled me to my feet and handed me a tissue. "Your nose is going to bleed in a few seconds, to you'll need that."

"Thanks," I managed to grumble, feeling a drop of blood trickle out of my left nostril. "Anyway, what do you need?"

"It's not exactly as much of a necessity as it is a simple want."

"Well?"

"My mind has changed, from my own doing, as it always does. I want you to take the day off. Do not object, you're obviously tired as hell. You need rest, John. I can handle this by myself."

Once again, before I could object, he ran out the door. Sighing, my legs started heading toward the now lukewarm coffee pot. As the brown liquid was being poured into my favourite red mug, I started thinking about Sherlock. I thought about how busy we've been with jobs, how much more open he's been lately, how much more we've spoken. To most people this would be a bother, no. Scratch that. To anyone else it would have been.

But not to me.

Month after month my thoughts have been racing. I've always felt compelled to be with Sherlock. Sometimes I even thought I had feelings for him that went past mutual friendship. Sometimes I felt like he felt the same for me...

_Hahaha, no. _My mind disagreed. _This is Sherlock. He doesn't feel those things! _Saddened by my own consciousness, I sat down on the kitchen stool and quietly sipped from my cup.

_But I do..._ My eyes closed as I admitted it to myself, officially, for the first time. It hurt, because I knew I was lucky to have gone so far as to simply befriend Mr. Sherlock Holmes. So there I sat, eyes closed, considering and questioning our friendship, and the possibilities of anything more.

(((AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello to anyone reading this. I must say that I have a bad tendency to alternate between Present-Tense and Past-Tense. I apologize for this, I've been trying to fix it! It'll be a slow, but sure process. Also, the reasoning for the shorter-than-most-others' chapters is because I'm intending for all of the chapters to be read as a full story. Also; to my friends and any fans reading; this isn't going to be anything hardcore. A little case is solved, and some cute romance, but nothing too major. It's rated "T", not "M". Thank you for reading this so far, and for reading this note, and for understanding. END)))


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